Rumplestiltskin's reason
by YoukaiNemisis
Summary: Rumplestiltskin has choreographed and lead everyone through the steps of this cursed dance from the very beginning. But there was one misstep in his careful waltz, and her name was Belle. So not a one shot anymore. One of my better ones, if I do say so myself.
1. Chapter 1

Rumplestiltskin paces the hall, twenty-eight strides from one end to the other, ignoring the bands of golden sunlight that stream in the now uncovered windows. And with every step he takes, a phrase tumbles through his mind. _She loves me. She loves me. She loves me. _Finally, he stops, and sinks to sit, eyes closed and head in hands, in the seat from where he'd told her he expected never to see her again. _And I love her_.

How did this happen? It wasn't supposed to be this way. It was just an idea, something to bolster the dark reputation he'd cultivated – stealing away a beautiful young girl would feed the fear for years. In the normal course of things, he would have kept her for a week or two, then tossed her out, after feeding her a potion to wipe her memory – it wasn't like he _wanted _her underfoot. Not in the beginning, anyway. Not when she was afraid of him. Then she fell from that damn ladder, and he caught her, and everything went to hell.

_She loves me. And I love her._

She'd found the cracks in the stone he'd placed around his heart, and with her little smiles, her curious mind and innocent looks, she'd breached his walls. She'd made him remember what it was to be a man, with a man's feelings and desires. A few weeks had become a few months, and every time he'd gone to brew the memory potion, he'd stayed his hand. _What harm could just one more day do? _he'd thought.

_She loves me. And I love her._

The Dark Curse is still months away from completion, and it is still missing key ingredients. He needs his power to see it through, and now it all comes down to a choice. Rumplestiltskin feels tears prick and sting behind his closed lids as he contemplates that terrible, terrible choice. He has to chose between Belle and Bae. The woman he loves, and the son he failed. The tears come, hot and bitter, because he knows it is no choice, not really. He broke the deal, he let Baelfire go, and before all else, he has to make that right. He has to send her away, and he has to break her heart to make sure she doesn't come back, because as sure as ogres eat humans, she won't take a potion from his hand, not now.

_She loves me. And I love her._

Anger comes, drying the tears, and he batters at the cabinet, but the crash of breaking glass fails to soothe the rage against this choice that is no choice. The pole clatters to the ground as he sags, grabbing at the shelf and ignoring the pain of the glass cutting his fingers. His next targets are the tea cups on the table, and he methodically casts them at the wall, one at a time, until he comes to the one she chipped. Rumplestiltskin's hand shakes, but he can't bring himself to break it. Instead, he puts it down as the anger starts to fade. He has to put the walls back up around his heart, because if she sees that he loves her too, she'll stay – and he knows he won't be able to resist her, he knows that he'll allow her love to lift the curse of his power.

"So what are you going to do to me?" _My sweet Belle, if only I could just hold you one more time..._

"Go."

"Go?" _No, oh gods no, I wish you could just stay..._

"I don't want you any more."

"You were freeing yourself. You could have had happiness, if you just believed that someone could want you. But you couldn't take the chance." _I'm sorry, Belle, sweetheart, I'm so sorry..._

"That's a lie."

"You're a coward, Rumplestiltskin, and no matter how thick you make your skin, that doesn't change." _I know, my love, oh I know..._

"I'm not a coward, dearie. It's quite simple, really. My power means more to me than you."

"No. No, it doesn't. You just don't think I can love you." _I love you, Belle._ "But now you've made your choice. And you're going to regret it. Forever." _I love you! _ "All you'll have is an empty heart and a chipped cup."

Then she's walking away from him, and it takes all of his willpower to not throw himself to his knees at her feet and beg her forgiveness, beg her to stay, beg her to accept his love. He closes his eyes, and then she's gone.

Weeks pass, and he can do nothing but spin, watching the wheel and trying to forget how he hurt her. Perhaps he'll find her in the world to come, the Land Without Magic. Maybe he can make it up to her somehow, maybe she'll forgive him... But then Regina arrives.

"Her father shunned her. Cut her off, shut her out." _No, no, I didn't want that to happen, but Belle could still..._

"So, she needs a home."

"He was cruel to her. He locked her in a tower and sent in clerics to cleanse her soul, with scourges and flame. After a while she threw herself off the tower. She died." _No. No. No. That didn't happen, not to Belle. Never Belle._

"You're lying."

"Am I?" _It has to be a lie. Please, gods, let it be a lie, but, oh, the look in her eyes, that dark, malicious glee..._

"We're done."

"Fine. I have other calls to make." _Please don't let her see that I'm dying, that she's killed me with these words._ "Place is looking dusty, Rumple. You should get a new girl."

Regina leaves, the doors swing closed behind her and he crumples to the cold marble floor. Distantly, he notices someone is making sounds, the horrible noises of an animal caught in a deadly trap, and it's him. He's broken, shattered, like the glass. By sending her away, he's killed her. She's dead, _Belle's dead,_ and it's his fault. He's failed someone he loves again, and the pain in his chest is eating him alive as tears stream down his face. He curls up on his side and hopes he dies of it, hopes that this pain will kill him.

But it doesn't. Somehow, he survives it, and when he can finally stand he goes to the cabinet, repaired weeks ago with a touch of magic and a sweep of his hand. Rumplestiltskin takes out the teacup, her chipped teacup. As the tears come again, he reverently replaces the golden grail with the fragile porcelain. _I'm sorry, oh, Belle, my love, I'm so sorry!_

_**A/N: I have written a continuation of this, but I don't know if I should take this off the 'complete' list, 'cause the continuation smells like it's going to be epic... Review and let me know if you want more? - YN P.S All these favourites, Y U NO REVIEW? Ahem.**_


	2. Chapter 2

The fairy wand is one of the last things Rumplestiltskin needs. Now, he works his magic, ensuring that, after the Dark Curse is cast, the wand will wait for him, and come when he calls – when the Curse is broken, of course. Such a thing will be very useful in the land to come. It was the prize he'd sought; he'd only made the deal and granted Cinderella's wish on a whim. He truly wondered if he'd even bother to collect.

Everything is in place – Charming had performed admirably, hiding the potion where it would be safe, and, more importantly, retrievable in the future. Snow White has her Prince, her happy ending and her true love. From this point, it should be all downhill, he muses as the wand flares with magic and vanishes. But there is one little matter that still tugs at his brain. He needs Snow to come to him, so that she will know her child, the child of True Love, will be the one to break the Curse. He already knows that there is one last enchanted tree in the forest, one that, if worked into a vessel, will protect those inside from the power of the Curse – in fact, he's seen to it personally that there is only one remaining. He also needs the name of her child to pass Snow's own lips, to seal the insurance he's worked into the Dark Curse itself.

So, his problem is actually twofold – he has to get Snow White to believe in the Curse, and to make a deal with him for the name of her child-to-be. And to do that, he has to become safe. Well, certainly less threatening, anyway. And the only way he can see that happening is if he allows himself to be captured and imprisoned. Rumplestiltskin sighs as he packs away the last of the tools he'd used on the wand. Imprisonment is going to be terribly boring. And how to achieve it? The entire land is terrified of him – who would be bold enough, brave enough, to challenge him? Then Rumplestiltskin begins to laugh as an idea hits him – lovely Cinderella, and the favour he holds. She and her Prince Thomas were friends with Snow White and Charming, and Charming was a terribly honourable man. If he threatened Cinderella, Charming would respond by goading Thomas into action.

So how best to threaten the little dear? He immediately dismisses the idea of capturing her and bringing her here to the Dark Castle. A smile twists his lips as he considers demanding access to her person and her bed for a week or a year – if Thomas didn't man up against that threat, though, it could get a little messy if he has to follow through... Then his smile becomes a grin. He knows exactly what will motivate the young couple most – threaten not them, but their progeny. Rumplestiltskin looks down at his brown leathers and gestures. A cloud of purple smoke wreaths him, and in a moment, he is dressed in jewels, elegant brocade, and cream and fawn silks. It's time to attend a party.

He watches the dancers, gauging his moment carefully. Cinderella is radiant in her white dress and fiery opals, and he grins a secret grin when he notices she still wears the glass slippers he gave her. He watches as Snow grabs her hands and pulls her away from Thomas, and they giggle and step through a few measures of the dance. And when she spins away from Snow White, he makes his move.

"I'm proud of you, too."

"You. What are you doing here?" _What do you think, dearie?_

"I just wanted to make sure you were happy with your end of the bargain. You know, true love, riches, happy endings. Did you get everything you desired?"

"Yes. Yes I did. Now what do you want? What's your price? My jewels? The ring?" _If only you knew._

"No, no, dear, keep your baubles. What I want is something you don't yet possess, but something I know is coming. Your first born." With a practised flick, he spins her away and walks off, forcing a grin to stretch his lips in case anyone is watching. He reaches the edge of the dance floor and melts into the crowd, teleporting away at the first opportunity. _Your move, Cinderella._

Now he has to wait. But it doesn't take too long; his Dove brings him news that the Princess is pregnant and the kingdom celebrates. He rubs his hands together and laughs ruefully at the irony of welcoming his own imprisonment. But he does what he must, and when the Dove returns with with a message that Cinderella wants to meet him, Rumplestiltskin obliges. The only mystery left in this is how they plan to cage him, but he doesn't have long now before he'll have the answer to that puzzling question. So he walks through the Dark Castle one last time, brushing this object and that with his fingertips. He stops beside the chipped tea cup, trying to remember what it felt like to love Belle. He'd been broken so badly in the days following her death he'd forced himself to forget his heart so that he could still function, so that he could finish the Curse. There will be time for him to love later, when he was reunited with Bae. Finally, he ends up beside his spinning wheel.

The last bastion of his humanity. The last remnant of his old life, the life he had before the magic. He spins it, one last time, then gives vent to a sigh and teleports himself to Cinderella.

"And you would trade your other child for... comfort?"

"We can always have more children." _Ah, that you actually believe with your whole heart. _"But I can't make crops grow where the soil is dead. In exchange for our other child, you will see to it that once again our land is fertile. I think it's more than fair." _That contract is a master work, child. Whom did you get to write it, I wonder?_

"Yes. Yes, yes, it is. If what you're saying is true."

"It is. And all you have to do is sign on the dotted line." _That pen reeks of fairy magic. Oh, how simple, how... _elegant_. I can smell that bitch Blue all over this._

"What a lovely quill. Wherever did you get it?"

"It's from the castle." _And you were doing so well. Don't falter now._

"You know the only way to stop me is through magic."

"I'm not trying to stop you." _You could have learned to lie a little better, Cinderella._

"Of course you're not. Because as we all know, all magic comes with a price. And if you were to use it to, say, imprison me, then your debt to me would only grow, and we wouldn't want that now, would we?"

"Just sign the contract, please." _Such a shame that I have to pretend to lose, to you and your insipid Prince of all people._

"Are you sure you're happy with this new arrangement? Then so it shall be."

The magic grabs him, chokes him, freezes him in place, and oh, it hurts, it hurts like a son of a bitch. As she calls for her prince, he reminds her that no one breaks deals with him. Just to twist the knife, and to distract himself from the pain, he adds that he will one day have her child, and somewhere deep inside himself he feels pleased with the horror on her face. Rumplestiltskin is manacled and shoved into the back of the prison wagon by Charming and a dwarf he recognises. It's the dwarf who accompanied Snow when she came to him for help to kill Regina, and someone who has every reason to kill him. He swallows a wry smile. _If only they knew..._

Then Cinderella is clutching at her distended belly, and he listens intently as Thomas rushes off to get her water. He turns his attention to the guards and the cage, and admits a grudging admiration – they've done their job well, for Rumplestiltskin cannot escape. He is distracted from his study when Cinderella rushes back, Thomas' sash in hand, and he allows himself a grin. That Blue bitch never bothers to tell anyone about the consequences of magic.

"What did you do?" _You silly little girl..._

"Ella, what's wrong?"

"Your Highness, what happened?"

"What did you do to my Thomas?!" _Will she think to ask the same of the Blue Fairy?_

"I haven't done anything. In case you haven't noticed, I've been otherwise engaged."

"Something's happened to him, you know, tell me!" _Why does no one ever listen to me?_

"I have no idea, dearie. But I did warn you. All magic comes at a price. Looks like someone has just paid."

"Don't listen to him. We'll find Thomas." _Sure you will, Charming, sure you will._

"No you won't. Until that debt is paid, until that baby is mine, you're never going to see him again. In this world or the next, Cinderella, I will have that baby."

The wagon is driven off, away from the sobbing Princess and the Prince who tries to comfort her and send out search teams at the same time. The grim dwarf is at the reins, and Rumplestiltskin pokes and prods and pries with every word he speaks, finally antagonising the dwarf to the point where the wagon is halted and he jumps to the ground, pulling out his pick-axe. Rumplestiltskin grins as a heated argument ensues, proving to him that they have orders to keep him alive. It is Snow's influence, perhaps.

It's not all that long a ride, and soon the wagon is stopping outside a mine. A diamond mine. _Oh, you clever, clever people._ He is bundled from the wagon bed, and shoved down a long, narrow tunnel, ending in a roughly hewn hole. He is pushed inside, and, with a great grinding noise, the iron door of the cell is swung shut. Rumplestiltskin is finally caged.

"Hands," one of the guards says. Obediently, he extends them through the bars, and the manacles around his wrists are removed. It doesn't help – with all the fairy dust that impregnates the walls, he still can't use his magic. "Now," announces a tall, black skinned guard, obviously the chief warden for this prison, "if you behave, we'll treat you well. Misbehave, and, well, in here you're just a man. Do you understand?" Rumplestiltskin smirks.

"Then why are you so afraid?" he asks. There is no answer to this, and the guards form up and march away, taking all but one torch with them. Rumplestiltskin is left alone, in the dark, and he flops to the ground, folding his hands behind his head and smiling at the invisible ceiling. _Nearly there._


	3. Chapter 3

He is in the prison for a few months, by his reckoning. There is no daylight or moonlight to mark the passage of time, but the head guard comes to him once a day with a meal consisting of half a loaf of tough bread and a skin full of water. No matter how he attempts to draw the guard out, he seems immune to Rumplestiltskin's personal brand of trickery – he's been well informed of Rumplestiltskin's tactics. To keep up the charade, Rumplestiltskin has to appear to want out of the cage, so he continues to try to rattle the man. He takes to using the strength and agility he still possesses to hide on the ceiling of the cell, invisible to anyone standing in corridor that stretches away from the front of his cage. He giggles to himself when he finally manages to scare the head guard one day – victories are few and far between by for the mighty Rumplestiltskin nowadays.

Alone in the cell he has time to think, and reflect on everything he has done, everything he has caused. As an intellectual exercise, he attempts to weigh the good he's done against the bad, but gives up when it starts to depress him too much. He sometimes amuses himself with imagining various punishments he can visit on the Blue Fairy, and his imagination is deep enough, dark enough, and twisted enough that he can keep himself entertained for days at a time.

He keeps back some of the bread he is given and tries to train the rats that he shares his prison with, but he fails. They're no where near as malleable as humans tend to be. Rumplestiltskin sometimes talks to himself, and he knows he's slowly going insane, down here alone in the dark.

He forces himself not to think of Bae. Or of Belle. Those thoughts bring his mind too close to the edge of madness. The day is coming, he knows it, he just has to hold on to his sanity long enough for it to arrive. And just when he thinks he's reached the end of his tether, it does. He hears the head guard giving instructions as they approach the cell, and he smiles to himself from his ceiling perch.

"Rumplestilstkin! Rumplestiltskin! I have a question for you!" _I do believe that's the first time you've ever lied to me._

"No, you don't. They do. Snow White, and Prince Charming. You insult me. Step into the light and take off those ridiculous robes. That's much better."

"We've come to ask you about the queen-" _Shut up, Charming._

"Yes, yes, I know why you came. You want to know about the queen's threat."

"Tell us what you know!"_ You were always the more forceful of the two, weren't you, dear Snow?_

"Ooh, tense, aren't we? Fear not, for I can ease your mind. But it's going to cost you something in return."

"No. This is a waste of time." _I'm not talking to you, Charming._

"What do you want?"

"Oh. The name of your unborn child."

"Absolutely not." _Go stuff yourself, Charming, this bargain's not for you. It's never been about you._

"Deal. What do you know?" _That's my girl._

"The queen has created a powerful curse. And it's coming. Soon, you'll all be in a prison, just like me. Only worse. Your prison, all of our prisons, will be _time_. And time will stop, and we will be trapped, some place horrible. Where everything we hold dear, everything we love, will be ripped from us while we suffer for all eternity, while the queen celebrates, victorious at last! No more happy endings."

"What can we do?" _For once, listen to me. And _believe_._

"We can't do anything."

"Who can?" _Clever girl._

"That little thing, growing inside your belly. Hsst!"

"Next time, I cut it off." _You're more than welcome to open this cage and try it, boy. I kicked your arse once, and I know I can do it again, even without the magic._

"The infant is our only hope. Get the child to safety. Get the child to safety, and on its twenty-eighth birthday, the child will return. The child will find you. And the final battle will begin!"

"I've heard enough. We're leaving." _Don't you dare, we made a deal!_

"Hey, Snow, we made a deal! I want her name! We had a deal! I need her name!"

"It's a boy." _Wrong again, Charming._

"Missy, missy, you know I'm right. Tell me, what's her name?"

"Emma. Her name is Emma." _Thank you, Snow White._

"Emma." Even here, cut off from his power, he feels a shiver run down his spine as the Curse is finally complete. Now it just needs to be cast, and he goes back to his days of waiting, as the world turns, Snow's belly grows, and an enchanted vessel is built from a magical tree._  
_


	4. Chapter 4

Even the fairy dust can't stop him feeling it as Regina casts the Curse, and he frowns as he feels it splutter out. What has she done wrong, that it didn't catch? And will she be smart enough to come to him for help to fix it? Soon after the magic recedes, he can feel her presence, long before he notices a new rat among those that have kept him company for months. He smiles in the darkness.

"It's just us, dearie. You can show yourself."

"That curse you gave me. It's not working." _What the hell did you do wrong? I made the damn thing as idiot proof as I could!_

"Oh, so worried. So, so worried. Like Snow, and her lovely new husband."

"What?" _Ah, something you didn't know._

"They paid me a visit as well. They were very anxious. About you. And the Curse."

"What did you tell them?" _Wouldn't you like to know? Luckily for you, I need you to know, so this little dance can continue in the Land Without Magic._

"The truth. That nothing can stop the darkness. Except, of course, their unborn child. You see, no matter how powerful, all curses can be broken. Their child is the key. Of course, the Curse has to be enacted first."

"Tell me what I did wrong." _How many years has it been since you and I started down this road? Ten, fifteen? More? The ending is in sight, but I can never tell you that I'm sorry for the part you had to play. The part I taught you to play. If it's any comfort, you played it well, my dear._

"For that, there's a price."

"What do you want?" _Shall I surprise you, dearie? Can I still surprise you?_

"Simple. In this new land, I want comfort. I want a good life."

"Fine. You'll have an estate. Be rich." _Got her. Now for the important part._

"I wasn't finished. There's more."

"There always is with you." _You think you know me, don't you?_

"In this new land, should I ever come to you for any reason, you must heed my every request. You must do what ever I say, so long as I say... please."

"You do realise that should I succeed, you won't remember any of this." _For a while, anyway. Twenty eight years, to be precise, until the day I hear the name of the Saviour from her own lips._

"Oh, well then. What's the harm?"

"Deal. What must I do to enact this curse?" _For the final time, we are once again master and student._

"You need to sacrifice a heart."

"I sacrificed my prized steed." _You stupid-!_

"A horse?! This is the Curse to end all curses. You think a horse is going to do?! Great power requires great sacrifice. The heart you need must come from something far more... precious."

"Tell me what will suffice." _You still don't see it, do you? You must sacrifice the one thing I cannot._

"The heart of the thing you love most."

"What I love most died because of Snow White." _He died because your mother couldn't see that love sometimes requires letting go. No. I will not think of Belle, not now._

"Is there no one else you truly love? This Curse isn't going to be easy. Vengeance never is, dearie. You have to ask yourself a simple question. How far are you willing to go?"

"As far as it takes." _That's the spirit, Regina dear._

"Then please stop wasting everyone's time and just do it. You know what you love. Now go kill it." Then she's gone, and he steps back into the darkness. There is wetness on his cheeks, and, astonished, he reaches up to touch it. He is crying, for Regina of all people. Ah, if only they could see him now, the great Rumplestiltskin, crying for the Evil Queen.

He weeps silently in the darkness of his cell. He turns his face to the wall, and is shocked to feel the void he'd replaced his heart with ache. The last move is made, the last dance measure has been trod, and now Regina will kill her own father to enact the Curse. But even though her hand will wield the knife, he is the one that put the blade in her fingers. For the sake of a son, a father must die and a kingdom must perish. It is the only way he'll ever see Baelfire again.

It's not too long after Regina's visit that he feels the Curse again, and instead of the whimper it made before, this time it roars in his head. He staggers, eyes wide, as he feels it grow in power and strength. A fast grab for the bars keeps him upright, but he is trembling like a leaf and his knees are weak. But above and beyond the fear he feels, there is a hot, bright joy welling up inside him, and he begins to laugh in triumph. _I'm coming, Bae!_


	5. Chapter 5

Gold's eyes blink open at precisely 6.58 am, and he rolls onto his side to silence the alarm before it can sound. For two minutes, he lays still, watching the hands of the clock tick on. Then, at 7 am, he pushes back the silken covers of his bed and swings his legs over to sit up on the edge, supporting his right leg with both hands. As he does every morning, he considers his reluctance to agree to the surgery Whale assures him will restore full mobility, but he glances at the gold topped cane that rests against the night stand beside the bed and smiles. The cane is part of the legend, part of the costume, and he doesn't want to give it up. Perhaps next year, he thinks, grimacing as he performs the stretching exercises the physiotherapist ordered. Perhaps when the mornings become to unbearable. Perhaps...

He rises, ignoring the cane for now, leaning instead on one of the massive posts that support the canopy above the king sized bed. Gold yawns, and scratches at his bare chest, then adjusts the boxers that hang from his slender waist. Weight on his left leg, another grab at the next post, then he is using the bathroom door for support as he steps inside. He takes his time to shower and shave, and after this he limps back into his opulent bedroom, a towel in place of the shorts. A quick check of the diary that rests on the dresser reminds him that today he collects rents from Storybrooke Hardware, the convent, and Granny's, so he considers his options from the wardrobe with this in mind.

The black and white checked shirt is first, followed by one of his many black Armani suits and a black Hugo Boss silk tie. The shirt is a little large in the collar, precisely calculated to make him look smaller than he already is, making him look a little more harmless, a little more safe. He grins into the mirror as he adjusts the tie before he lifts a handkerchief from the smallest drawer in the dresser. A few passes of his hands, and just like a magic trick, the handkerchief is folded properly and tucked into the outer pocket of the jacket, a tiny splash of colour against the monochrome. The jacket slides over his shoulders, exquisitely tailored and fitting perfectly. He tugs the sleeves of the shirt down, just so, and checks the mirror once again. Done. His costume for the day is complete.

Gold grasps his cane as a pair of thumps reaches his ears; the sound of his newspapers hitting first his front door, then his porch. He smiles again – the newspaper carriers were all too scared of him to miss. He limps down the stairs, cracks the door enough to retrieve the pile of newsprint, and strips off the rubber band holding them together as he nudges the door closed. The Washington Post, the Wall Street Journal, the Storybrooke Mirror and USA Today look up at him as he navigates the narrow, cluttered hallway to the kitchen. As the kettle boils on the stove and bread cooks in the toaster, he sorts them into order of relevance, and sits down to his breakfast of tea, toast, and information.

He finishes his breakfast at 8.15 am, and places his dishes in the sink. He pulls the lunch he packed last night from the remnants of his dinner and adds it to the Wall Street Journal for a bit of lunch time reading. He exits his salmon coloured Victorian via the back door and limps to his Cadillac, sliding into the leather seat and keying the ignition. The beautifully maintained classic rumbles to life, and he is driving away, towards the little hamlet of Storybrooke and the rest of his life.

At 8.30, as he does six days a week, he pulls into his reserved parking space in the alley behind the shop. By 8.35, Gold has opened the rear door and slipped inside. He spends just under an hour dusting and tidying, and at precisely 9.30 he flips the sign to open and unlocks the door, ready for another day of buying and selling to the desperate.

He smiles a predator's smile as he returns to the rear of the shop to gather his large tomes of inventory. Gold has comfort, he has a good life. By his own math, he owns just on seventy percent of Storybrooke. Mayor Mills may run the town; but he, Gold, _owns_ it. He is the most feared man in town, and he likes it that way. With the money he collects in rents, he could give up the pawn shop and never work again – yet he knows that he never will. Making bargains with people, making _deals_, gives him a rush more addictive than any drug Whale could prescribe for the pain in his knee. As the bell over the door tinkles musically, he tones down the smile and looks up, ready for his first customer.

At 11.30, he flips the sign to closed and adds its mate, one that gives the time the shop will reopen. Then he leaves the dim security of the shop for the street and begins his rounds. Storybrooke Hardware is first, and the beefy, surly proprietor looks like he'd like nothing more than to kick Gold out onto the street, but one smile from Gold has him handing over a wad of bills. To add to the man's humiliation, Gold does not leave, but stands his ground and counts the money. When he is satisfied he has all he is owed, Gold finally exits the shop.

His next stop is the convent. One of the soberly dressed nuns, a fairly junior one, leads him to the office of the Mother Superior, announces him, makes her excuses and flees as if the hounds of hell are chasing her. Gold smiles after her, not bothering to hide his pleasure at her reaction. He's not entirely sure where his antipathy for the nuns came from, but he's glad to see _they_ fear _him_ as much as Gold hates _them_.

"Mother Superior."

"Mr. Gold. It's all there." _Such a small, thick envelope. Don't want to dirty your hands by touching the cash, do you?_

"Thank you, dearie. Are there any maintenance matters that I need to be aware of?"

"No. We're fine." _Poverty, chastity, obedience – you'd throw it all away for the chance to punch me in the face, wouldn't you? That expression of loathing you try to hide is too easy to read, my dear._

"Well, then, I'll see you next month."

"I'm sure you will."

He limps out of her office after offering her a small, ironic bow of his head. He sees no one as he moves towards the stairs, obviously the junior nun had warned her sisters that he was in the building, so he allows himself a smirk. He luxuriates in the power he has over these brides of Christ – one missed payment and he is within his rights to kick their arses out onto the street. Gold indulges in a little fantasy about just how such a moment would go, a stupid idea, because in his distraction he misses the top step and all his weight slams down on his bad knee. A fast grab at the railing keeps him upright as a noise of pain hisses through his teeth and pain roars through him.

It is only Gold's force of will that keeps him walking; a casual observer would never notice that he is moving much more slowly than normal, and leaning far more weight on his cane that he usually does. He skips Granny's and returns to the shop, leaving the closed sign in place as he staggers into the back office. He sinks into a chair and rolls up his right trouser leg. The knee is already swelling, and he clenches his teeth against the pain as he straightens then flexes the joint. He gropes in a desk drawer, pulling out a small orange tube containing his emergency pain pills. He dry swallows a dose, then leans back and gingerly manoeuvres his bad leg into an elevated position on a foot stool. _Tomorrow. I'll make the appointment with Whale for the surgery tomorrow._

It takes about half an hour for the pills to kick in, and half an hour after that he rises and opens the shop again. Perhaps a few customers will take his mind off it. But no one comes to see him, so he spends his time worrying about recovery times and physiotherapy. As dusk falls, he locks up, and decides to go to Granny's now to collect the rent. He manages the stairs, and steps inside to see a young blonde woman standing before the counter, someone he has never seen before. Tall, shapely, nice jacket, great arse.

"Swan. Emma Swan." _Emma. _Emma_. She's Emma, the Saviour, the child of True Love. And I... I am _Rumplestiltskin_. Oh my gods, it worked. It actually worked!_

"Emma. What a lovely name."

"Thanks." _No, thank _you_, dearie, thank you so much! But I cannot laugh, I cannot leap for joy, not just yet. There is too much to do. Bae. Oh, my son, Bae!_

"It's all here." _Oh, right. The rent. Stay in character, damn it! Be Gold! No one can know, not yet._

"Yes, yes, of course it is, dear, thank you. You enjoy your stay. Emma."

He walks away, and it is the most curious thing. His knee doesn't hurt at all.

_**A/N: Sorry to those who've already read it, but I deleted the references to the Mirror article – I was early with it. Oopsie. Won't happen again, promise. - Y/N**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N – Sorry if you've already read chapter 5, but I removed all the references to the Mirror article – sorry, screwed up a little chronologically there. - YN**_

Rumplestiltskin isn't drunk, but he's working on it, drinking the top shelf scotch that Gold can afford. That he can afford, now. He lifts a glass in Regina's general direction before he takes a swig. Comfort and a good life – Gold has that in spades. And now Rumplestiltskin has it. The house is large and cluttered with expensive knick knacks, the block big and well maintained, the car... Well, the car lacks a certain something, but its perfectly serviceable - for now.

He'd been unable to get drunk since he'd taken the power of the Dark One. And now he seemed to be human again, wholly and completely. So Rumplestiltskin has decided that this night, this one glorious night, he'll sink to the bottom of a bottle to drown out the memories. It isn't working very well right now, but he's still got half the bottle to go – maybe the ache that comes whenever he thinks of Bae will go away by the time the scotch runs out.

Damn Regina. Damn her to the most inventive hell he can create for doing this to him. Sure, she kept her end of the bargain, but the slippery bitch has pulled his teeth. Punctual, methodical, organised! The persona of Gold _reeks_ of domesticity – something he is going to change in the days and weeks to come. Not that much, of course. It wouldn't do to have Regina suspect anything too early in the game. Where would be the fun in that? Rumplestiltskin knocks back another glass and grins. She won't know what hit her.

The clock chimes merrily at 7 am, and Rumplestiltskin groans, swiping at it with a clumsy hand. It falls to the floor and breaks, the chiming silenced. His eyes are gummy, his mouth is dry as sand, and his head pounds. A hangover, his very first in over two centuries. Definitely not what he needs right now. He crawls out of bed, noticing that he didn't bother to remove his trousers before collapsing between the sheets last night. He tries to stand and yelps as pain from his knee cuts through him. _What the hell?_ Rumplestiltskin eases himself onto the edge of the bed and grasps his leg with both hands. _Oh, right._ Without magic, he's still crippled – it must have just been the shock of returning to his true self that stopped the pain last night.

It takes a monumental effort to stagger to the shower, and he spends much longer under the warm spray that normal. When he steps out, he feels, well, human again, and he grins at the irony. He walks back into his bedroom naked and considers his body in the mirror. Such an interesting feeling, to look on that face and form and consider it strange. Where is the green-gold sheen of his skin, the hint of scales around his jaw, the long, sharp, black nails? And the hair... He runs his fingers through the greying strands and sighs. So this is what he looks like, as a normal, human male. He selects clothing at random, black suit and shirt, dark brown silk tie, and almost forgoes the handkerchief for the pocket. He stops himself, knowing it would be dangerous for anything to change just yet, so he makes flamboyant folds in the multicoloured pocket square and sets it in place.

Rumplestiltskin missed the thumps of the papers on the porch, but they're all there when he peeks out the door. He considers pouring himself another scotch in lieu of breakfast, but squashes that thought for the stupid idea it is. His body is used to its morning routine, though, so he puts the bread on to cook and the water to boil, and he opens the newspapers out across the kitchen table. He stops, shocked, to see a picture of the Saviour on the front page of the Mirror. It's an obvious hatchet job, and he snickers as he reads through it. Sydney _Glass_, the _Mirror_... _Oh, Regina, you're still as subtle as a thrown brick._

But this presents a problem. Regina obviously wants Miss Swan to leave, about as much as Rumplestiltskin wants her to stay. And how did she come to Storybrooke? The Curse works towards its own breaking, that much he knows, because he wrote it into the original spell. He needs information about Emma Swan, and he needs it now.

Before he leaves for the shop, he makes a few phone calls, and when he closes down for lunch, his efforts are rewarded. Editor Glass would kill for the connections Rumplestiltskin, nay, Gold, has. Emma Swan, bail bonds person, transient resident, and birth mother of Henry. His head is spinning, but he has to laugh. The Curse used _him_ to get what it needed. When he arranged for Henry's adoption, it was the Curse at work, for surely it was the boy who brought Miss Swan to Storybrooke.

He pulls out a legal pad and a pencil and begins to make notes, very dangerous notes. He pairs up Storybrooke's residents with their original counterparts. The pencil snaps when he writes the name Moe French – Sir Maurice. Belle's father, and the reason she died. There will be a reckoning, he knows it, he promises it. There are quite a few he cannot place, though. Doctor Whale, for a start. And where is Prince Charming? He assumed that Regina put him somewhere safe, but somewhere right under Mary Margaret Blanchard's pretty little nose. He commits the list to memory, then shreds it into tiny pieces and burns it.

And Baelfire... Where is his son? Admittedly, working the Curse to send him to his son was like throwing a dart at a board that exists in another dimension, but he doesn't think he's gotten it that wrong. None of the children in Storybrooke are his beloved Bae, so he's obviously missed something. And he can't go looking – bad things happen to people who try and leave this place. So his only choice is to nudge Emma Swan towards breaking the Curse so he can leave Storybrooke and search for his son.

He makes a few more discreet calls, but it is hard to impart exactly what he wants his agents to look for. A boy, anywhere from age fourteen and up, dark hair and eyes... It hurts him to do it, but he orders that they look first in mental institutions, for Baelfire's story of falling through a portal would be completely unbelievable in this Land Without Magic.

At dusk he locks the shop again, and as he walks into the alley, he notices something very interesting. The Saviour is walking with Henry, and they are smiling at each other. This is exploitable. This is the chink in Regina's armour – her desperate need for someone to love her. So he gathers his cane and goes to Regina's manor. She's brushing sawdust from her tree, and Rumplestiltskin would love to know just how much it cost her to bring it with her.

"What a mess."

"Not for long. What can I do for you, Mr. Gold?" _Oh no, dearie, it's what I can do for you._

"I was just in the neighbourhood, thought I might pop by. Lovely to see you in such high spirits."

"Well, it's been a good day. I just rid the town of an unwanted nuisance." _Did you now?_

"Emma Swan. Really?"

"Yes. I imagine she's halfway to Boston by now." _I mustn't laugh, I mustn't laugh..._

"I wouldn't bet on that. I've just seen her strolling down main street with your boy. Thick as thieves, they looked."

"What?" _Oh, the anger there. You haven't changed one little bit, have you, your Majesty?_

"Perhaps you should have come to me. Miss Swan is a problem you can't fix. I'm only too happy to help. For a price, of course."

"I'm not in the business of making deals with you any more." _Really, now? Shall I time you to see how fast that changes?_

"To which deal are you referring?"

"You know what deal." _The Curse? Ah, no, the boy. Named for the father whose heart your carved out and threw onto a fire to enact your revenge._

"Oh, right, yeah. The boy I procured for you. Henry. Did I ever tell you what a lovely name that was? However did you pick it?"

"Did you want her to come to town? You wanted all this to happen, didn't you? Your finding Henry wasn't an accident, was it?" _Squirm, Regina, squirm on the hook of your curiosity. You'll not know the answer to that for as long as I can keep it from you._

"What ever do you mean?"

"Where did you get him? Do you know something?" _I know a lot of things, dearie._

"I have no idea what you're implying."

"I think you do. Who is this woman, his mother, this Emma Swan?" _Why, she's the Saviour, of course. Remember that I warned you that all Curses could be broken and that she was the key? Why does no one ever listen to me?_

"I would say you think you know exactly who she is. I really must be going."

"Tell me what you know about her!" _You need to work that out for yourself, just as Emma Swan needs to work out who she is for herself. And it's time to see if you heeded in my other little request._

"I'm not going to answer you, dear. So I suggest you excuse me. Please."

He takes a bite of the apple he removed from the tree and steps around her. As he leaves the little walled garden he tosses the apple over his shoulder, satisfied that he's got her attention now. She'd twist and writhe, trying to figure out what Rumplestiltskin knows, what he remembers. And whist her attention is on him, hopefully he's given Emma Swan a little breathing room. _Your move, Regina._


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: A big shout out to user baelish on YouTube and his or her 'All the Golds', which has been a great resource for this fic – I don't have to fast forward through my (newly acquired) season 1 discs (on Blu-Ray!) to find all of Gold's scenes... So thank you for making my life easier. And I know you'll probably never see this baelish, but hey, at least I know I said it. -YN**_

It takes him a while to feel truly comfortable seeing a human face in the mirror. It's as if he's been asleep and dreaming for the past twenty eight years; but he has to incorporate this dream into reality. He has to play the part from the dream – he cannot go back to crocodile skin and leather pants, not just yet. Rumplestiltskin has to wear Armani suits and drive the Cadillac to the shop every day.

The shop itself an absolute triumph, though. He revels in the fact that, as it was designed to do, the power of the Curse brought him everything he wanted and placed it at his fingertips. Others saw antiques and trinkets; he knows that these items have power. Or at least they will - when Emma Swan breaks the Curse and he completes the other little thing he has to do. Like slay a dragon to retrieve the potion of True Love. And find some way to magnify the potion's effects... But Rumplestiltskin has time. He knows that the Saviour, being bred in this Land Without Magic, won't believe so easily.

He has just closed the shop for lunch when a tingle he hasn't felt in a long, long time starts at the base of his spine. He makes it to the back office before the tingle reaches his brain, and he hears himself shriek as prophecy overtakes him. Faces blur past him; snatches of talk and people crying; Snow and Charming dressed in modern clothing kissing passionately in the middle of the main street. The images become clearer as he watches Emma speak commandingly to Ashley Boyd, telling her to change her life as the young woman weeps. He sees Sheriff Graham locking gazes with a wolf with mismatched eyes. Other images follow, and he commits as much of them to memory as he can. Then he sees Emma and Regina standing on either side of the boy Henry. Henry holds a book in his hands, and emblazoned on the cover are the words 'Once Upon A Time'. Henry offers the book to Emma, who takes it from him before Henry falls to the ground. The boy is so still, so pale, Rumplestiltskin knows he is dead. Emma weeps, whispers something, then presses her lips to his forehead. There is an explosion of rainbow light, and all the faces on the edges of his gaze turn to Regina in fury.

His vision dissolves in starbursts of white light, and he comes back to himself to find he's curled up on the floor. He can taste blood, and when he lifts a shaking hand to touch his face, it comes away covered in the red fluid. He fumbles out his handkerchief and holds it to his nose to staunch the truly impressive nose bleed. _How?_ he thinks dazedly. _Prophecy is magic, and there is no magic here. Is there?_ He manages to get to his feet and he staggers to the sink, still holding the handkerchief in place. He glances into the mirror and shudders, seeing his eyes mazed with red and blood splattered across his face and shirt. It's in that moment of horror that Rumplestiltskin realises that it was the Curse, the godsdamn _Curse, _that brought on the fit of prophecy. These were things he must know to break it, and it didn't matter at all to the Curse that he now felt like dwarves had been dancing on his brain in hobnailed boots. He washes off as much blood as he can, then leaves the shop. Screw it if Regina thinks its strange that Gold would leave at midday; he must get home and record as much of what he saw as he can before it fades.

He makes it home without anyone noticing that he is covered in blood; luckily he chose black from Gold's wardrobe this morning. Rumplestiltskin showers first of all, then wraps a heavy robe around himself. He picks up a legal pad and writes rapidly, only pausing to take some pain killers when the pounding in his head makes his vision blur. The boy Henry will be the key to making Emma believe. He allows himself a smile. At least that's something he doesn't have to worry about. It would have been nice to get some kind of confirmation that Bae was alive, that he was well, but that was the drawback of prophecy. No direct visions of himself; that was the way his gift worked. Well, that's how it used to be, anyway. Who knows how skewed it could be in this place?

He gingerly drinks a cup of tea and attempts to eat some toast, but it comes right back up into the sink in the kitchen. Rumplestiltskin cannot remember ever feeling like this after a vision; perhaps it is because he is human now. He sits back down with another cup of tea and rereads his notes. He rubs at his tired eyes. Why did he see Emma talking to Ashley? He sighs and slumps back in his chair. _I suppose I'll know soon enough._


	8. Chapter 8

Rumplestiltskin has had a one hell of a day. No customers, nothing to do but think about the vision he'd received the previous day. As was his nature, he was obsessing about each and every little thing he'd seen and how they can be turned to his advantage. Yet it doesn't escape him that something is off when he locks the door of the pawnshop. He moves off as he usually does, but he does not enter the alley to get in the Cadillac. He walks a little further down the street, then stops to wait in a convenient patch of shadow. His patience is rewarded as he watches Ashley Boyd, formerly Cinderella, smash the glass in the door with a brick and let herself in. Rumplestiltskin gives her a few moments to feel safe, then enters the shop behind her.

"Ashley. What are you doing?"

"Changing my life." _Ah, so that's why I saw what I saw!_

The mace attack is so sudden, so unexpected that he staggers backwards, overbalances, and suddenly the corner of the counter is rushing towards his face. Everything goes black, and when he regains conciousness, he has yet another headache and Ashley is gone, along with the contract she'd signed. Mopping blood off his forehead, he indulges in a smile that is more like a grimace. She'll run, he knows she will, and bad things happen to people who try and leave Storybrooke. The smile becomes grin as he considers the tool he has in town – a bail bonds person, who gave up a child after birthing him in prison. This will be a good way to test Miss Swan's mettle. He'll send her after Ashley instead of chasing the girl himself. But not tonight. Tonight he will go to the pharmacy and refill his pain medication – he's taken more of the drugs in the past couple of days than he has over the past couple of months.

Morning dawns, and he dresses carefully for this meeting. Black shirt and suit, but a black tie would be too much. No, he pulls out the one with the red patterning on it, and matches it with a red pocket square, just enough colour to catch the eye. Rumplestiltskin derisively snorts at himself when he catches himself preening a little in the mirror – for some reason he wants to impress the Saviour. He avoids the pawnshop and goes straight to the building Mary Margaret lives in.

"Miss Blanchard. Is Miss Swan here? Hi, my name's Mr. Gold. We met briefly on your arrival."

"I remember." _Of course you do. And you already don't like me. That's good, dearie. Hate is an excellent motivator._

"Good. I have a proposition for you, Miss Swan. I, ah, I need your help. I'm looking for someone."

"Really? Um..." _Mary Margaret, take a damn hint!_

"You know what, I'm going to go jump in the bath." _Yes, yes, just go away. You don't interest me at the moment._

"I have a photo. Her name is Ashley Boyd, and she's taken something quite valuable of mine."

"So why don't you just go to the police?" _Because you're here? But I better make up some excuse._

"Because, ah... She's a confused young woman. She's pregnant, alone, scared. I don't want to ruin this young girl's life. I just want my property returned."

"What is it?" _The child in her belly, the one I claimed to get myself incarcerated in a mine laced with fairy dust. But I believe you'll work better if you come into that knowledge by yourself, your __sad __past being what it is and all._

"Well, one of the advantages of you not being the police is discretion. Lets just say its a precious object and leave it at that."

"When'd you see her last?" _When she maced me in the face, after _you _got her going with your little __speech._

"Last night. It's how I got this. So unlike her. She was quite wound up, rambling on and on about changing her life. I have no idea what got in to her. Miss Swan, please help me find her. My only other choice is the police, and I don't think anyone wants to see that baby born in jail, now do they?"

"No, of course not." _Struck a nerve there, didn't I?_

"So you'll help me, then."

"I will help her." _I think you have your father's sense of honour __and loyalty__, girl, and it will serve you well._

"Grand."

"Hey Emma, I was thinking we-" _Henry? Henry at the door on a Saturday morning? __Well, that's interesting, to say the least._

"Hey, Henry. How are you?"

"O...kay..." _This is a dangerous game you're involved in, boy. Be wary, and remember Regina has eyes everywhere._

"Good. Give my regards to your mother. And good luck, Miss Swan."

He leaves, closing the door behind him. He goes and opens the shop, but he keeps glancing at the telephone, waiting for the Saviour to call and yell at him. She's clever enough to find out about the contract for the baby, and for some reason he feels a little shame over it. He examines this emotion closely, and almost laughs. After all the things he has done in his long, long life, he feels guilty that Emma Swan will find out he traded in human merchandise. In the late afternoon, he receives a call from one of the orderlies at the hospital – Emma has brought Ashley in to birth her child, and the child is expected any moment. The Cadillac leaves rubber behind it as he peels out of the alley and heads to the hospital. The next few hours will be crucial, he knows it. It will lay the foundations of the Saviour's opinion of him, and he has to play the role of cruel, cynical, conniving Gold to the hilt. Rumplestiltskin thinks he just might enjoy it – it's been a while since he's been thoroughly wicked. He arrives just in time to hear the doctor speak.

"Miss Swan? The baby is a healthy six pound girl, and the mother is doing fine."

"What lovely news. Excellent work, Miss Swan. Thank you for bringing me my merchandise."

He turns to the coffee machine, and attempts to get a cup of tea from it, just for the look of the thing. A judicious pair well placed of thumps makes it produce the hot liquid.

"Well, well. Must be my lucky day. Care for a cup, Miss Swan?"

"A baby? That's your merchandise? Why didn't you tell me?" _Such a scathing tone... You don't think very much of me right now, do you?_

"Well, because at the time you didn't need to know."

"Really? Or you thought I wouldn't take the job?" _On the contrary, my dear..._

"On the contrary. I thought it would be more effective if you found out yourself. After seeing Ashley's hard life, I thought it would make sense – to you. I mean, if anyone could understand the reasons behind giving up a baby, I assumed it would be you."

"You're not getting that kid." _Well, that's __a relief__. What the hell would I do with a baby now?_

"Actually, we have an agreement. My agreements are _always_ honoured. If not, I'm going to have to involve the police, and that baby's going to end up in the system. And that would be a pity. You didn't enjoy your time in the system, did you Emma?"

"It's not going to happen." _Well now, there's some leverage. You really want to keep Ashley and her daughter together, don't you? __What would you be willing to do to ensure that, I wonder?_

"I like your confidence. Charming. But all I have to do is press charges. She did, after all, break into my shop."

"Let me guess, to steal a contract." _Ah, there's that clever streak._

"Who knows what she was after?"

"You know no jury in the world will put a woman in jail whose only reason for breaking and entering was to keep her child." _True. Where are you going with this?_ "I'm willing to roll the dice that contract won't stand up. Are you? Not to mention what might come out about you in the process." _Oh, really?_ "Somehow I suspect there's more to you than a simple pawnbroker." _If only you knew..._ "You really want to start that fight?" _Bold one, aren't you? Its so refreshing to meet someone who isn't afraid of me._

"I like you, Miss Swan. You're not afraid of me, that's either cocky or presumptuous. Either way I'd rather have you on my side."

"So she can keep the baby." _Not just yet._

"Not just yet. There's still the matter of my... agreement with Miss Boyd."

"Tear it up." _That's not what I do, dearie._

"That's not what I do. You see, contracts, _deals_, well, they're the very foundation of all civilised existence. So I put it to you, now, if you want Ashley to have that baby, are you willing to make a deal with me?"

"What do you want?" _I just love it when people say that to me__._

"Oh, I don't know just yet. You'll owe me a favour."

"Deal."

He shakes her hand and watches her walk off over the rim of the paper cup. He keeps it in place to hide the smirk that is curling his lips. _That worked out better than I thought._


End file.
